


lacuna

by hidefromeveryone



Series: Bandom One-Shots [6]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Disorder, Best Friends, Blogging, Coming Out, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FTM, FTM Mikey Way, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9446591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidefromeveryone/pseuds/hidefromeveryone
Summary: Mikey is a guy, and he's alright. Only one of these things is true, yet he believes both of them are. Because Mikey is a guy, but he's definitely not alright.lacuna: (n.) a blank or missing part.





	

An empty straight line made of fading black ink lay near the top of the application. Beside it, the bold text seemed to multiply and eat the marrow inside his bones as it asked what his preferred name was. 

It was Mikey. 

But he was still Kelly. 

His hollow writing left indents in the stark white printer paper as the rest of the mandatory questions were filled in with cramped lettering made of small capital letters. At the bottom, before the signature line, it asked if all the information he reported above was true. A small box lay next to the accusatory statement and the navy blue ink bled outside its lines as he filled it in. It felt as if his mind was bleeding throughout his soul and his heart was punctured as well. 

Placing the sealed envelope next to the rest of the rotting mail waiting to be sent across the country, Mikey ignored the burning lies stated of Kelly Way, female, as he shuffled downstairs towards Gerard's room. His pronouns and name only came to him from internet mutuals and complete strangers on music forums. He knew this was right, because he _was_ a guy. Yet, he was still lying to everyone around him. Why was he so scared?

What if he was wrong?

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (9:58 p.m.):**

i got a new bass today. gerard says he wants to start a band but i don't know if i'll ever be good enough for something like that. i'm pretty sure he just wants an excuse to hang out with frank more.

\-----

The only positive thing about his monthly period was that it gave Mikey an excuse for the forgotten stains of crimson blood on his clothes. Gerard and Frank never asked questions about the raindrops of red always present on his jeans and under his nails. After all, they were almost always covered in the sticky substance themselves, due to Gee's frequent morbid and existential art or Frank's frequent fights with anyone disagreeing with him on matters of basic human rights.

Today, however, they were all covered in the fake, thick goo which supposedly mimicked the liquid as they stood shivering on the school's football field at five a.m. on a Sunday morning. 

"Frank, I think this stuff is drying on my skin. How much longer are we gonna be out here?" 

"I don't know, Gee, probably not long." 

Mikey stood in the back, his tall frame growing twisted behind the two boys as he could feel himself begin to suffocate. Vines of anxiety had found their way in through his veins and he couldn't bring himself to smile as Ms. Iero snapped one last photo, Gerard posing dramatically and Frank looking as angry as he could into the camera. Squeals of excitement left Gerard's lips as he saw the photos, and he rambled quickly about how great these photos would be for an album cover or promotional art. 

Mikey wished he could remove himself for the picture. His body wasn't right, and he wasn't good enough to be a part of his brother's band. They were simply being nice to him in lieu of actual conversation in order to avoid breaking his fragile mold. 

"You okay, Kelly?" 

"Sure."

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (11:23 a.m.):**

sometimes i wonder if anyone would ever truly miss me if i stopped existing. i'm just white noise in the background.

\-----

"Ms. Way, can I speak to you? I'll write you a pass for your next course."

"Yeah." 

"Is something going on? Prior to the previous few weeks, you always had your work in on time. Now it comes in late, if at all." 

"I've just been tired is all, Mrs. Joseph." 

"Okay, well, if there's anything I can do please let me know. I don't want to see the future of a talented young lady like you go to waste." 

Mikey cried in a bathroom stall with trembling knees tucked under his chin until he couldn't forgot where he was. Blurred vision followed his movements and texts from his brother came in rapid succession until Frank entered the bathroom with an old hall pass hanging from his pocket.

Controlling his breathing, Mikey pulled himself up on top of the toilet and attempted to believe that no one would ever have to find out about these moments. But what if Frank _knew_. 

Moments later Frank was gone, and Mikey continued digging his fingernails into his flesh until they left small caverns full of hollow liquid. The caverns became gorges became canyons became sinkholes. Their rivers danced on the tile floor rising underneath him until they disappeared under his shaking hands.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (2:41 a.m.):**

i'm a boy. my name is mikey. i don't care who sent that anon. just please stop.

\-----

"Well if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say."

His fingers were raw against the steel strings of his bass, working through the cords without a pick. Raw flesh vibrated against the metal as low tones permeated every inch of his being. Eyes were closed as Gee's rough voice grated against his thoughts and Frank's anger burst forth from every note he placed. Something was wet. On his face? His fingers? 

"I never want to let you down or have you go, it's better off this way."

It was two substances, one clear and made of salt and one opaque and made of rust.

One was draining from his sight, into the cavern of his silence and one was falling from bony fingers, dancing on scuffed sneakers and the old carpet of his parents' basement. He kept going. Harder. Faster. The neck of his bass was slick with sweat and he struggled to maintain his hold on it. 

"For all the dirty looks, the photographs your boyfriend took." 

Gerard was kissing Frank, their saliva a mess as Mikey felt his knees begin to give out. The lyrics, the chords, the raw passion all should have touched him deep within his heart, his mind, his soul. But Mikey couldn't feel anything and no jolting revelation was there to accompany this feeling. He was nothing, and a certain emptiness accompanied shells. 

"Remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor?" 

He was on the floor, knees burning at the fall through the worn holes in his jeans. Hard riffs pouring forth from hollow bones and stained veins overshadowed all other noise as the waves of his mind kept crashing. He didn't exist in this moment. It was nice, being able to forget that he was a real being. Perhaps this is what everyone longing to die truly sought. To stop being, and breathing. To not have to _care_ anymore. But he knew it was more than that. 

"I'm not okay." 

After all, Mikey wanted to kill himself every second of every day. 

"Kelly, oh my god. Frank, go get some water! Shit, are you okay? Please talk to me. Tell me you're okay." Gerard was holding his wrists and his eyes were too wide, too scared. He shouldn't be. After all, it was just a little bit of blood. 

"Just a little blood? Just a little _blood_! What are you even saying, what's going on?" He was backing up into the corner, away from his brother. Frank was back, with a small fading glass of liquid and an old towel with threadbare corners. Was that supposed to help? He was shaking. When did he start shaking? 

"C'mon, Kelly, just tell us what's up. You're fucking scaring us." It was Frank, then Gerard, in a never-ending loop. It was too much. It was pulling at his hair and clogging his ears to prevent the jagged edge of their innocent pleas. But it wasn't enough, and they were too close, and they thought he was a girl, and they wouldn't _stop_. 

So he snapped. 

"Don't fucking call me that. Ever. That's not my name. I'm Michael James Way, but like to be called Mikey. I'm a boy, not a fucking girl. I'm not your sister, Gerard. I'm not the fucking token girl friend, Frank. Please just stop." 

"Shit, I'm sorry. Mikes, I didn't know." They knew now. They _knew_. Rapid breaths and an uncontrollable stream of panicked thoughts choked his mind until he was ramming his head into the corner wall again, and again, and again. 

"Hey, it's okay. Mikey, you're the best brother I could ever ask for, okay? I promise." Gerard was hugging him, and placing his body between Mikey and the wall to ensure that his brother wouldn't permanently damage himself. Frank was cleaning his hands, which were still bleeding, and trying to act normal by cracking some of his old jokes they'd heard hundreds of times before. 

Mikey was sobbing.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (4:12 a.m.):**

gee cut my hair really short and let me have some of his beanies. i like it a lot. i think it makes me feel a little better too.

\-----

A small brown cardboard box with smashed corners and peeling tape almost slammed into his chest as Gerard tossed it across the basement towards his brother as he galloped down the stairs. Thoroughly confused, Mikey held the package by the tips of his fingers and held it as far away from him as his arms would allow.

"What's this?" Gerard threw himself down onto the bed next to him, and picked up the sketchbook which had been abandoned when the doorbell had rung out a few minutes prior. Unsurprisingly, Frank was being recreated once more in the medium of charcoal and coffee-stained parchment. 

"Your binder, silly." Mikey stilled, and shock overcame his features and locked every facet of his skeleton into place. 

"My...my what?" Gerard had grabbed the package from Mikey's frozen limbs and was slicing it open with the sharpest object he could find in the immediate vicinity (an old pair of scissors covered in rust and glitter). Packing peanuts, a receipt, white tissue paper tumbled forth along with the aforementioned object. It was black, and the length of Mikey's chest. 

"Your binder. I saw the scraps from your old tights in the garbage a few weeks ago when I took it out, and, even though that's a better method than ace or duct tape, it's still not safe for you. Try this one out, and if you need another size than just let me know. I paid for it with commission money, and donations from some of my followers who were excited to support you. Go try it on." Gerard was shoving him upstairs, towards his room. Before he escaped the threshold of the basement, Mikey twirled around on the balls of his feet and tackled his brother with a hug. 

"Thank you so much."

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (5:45 p.m.):**

frank bought me a shirt that says "he/him" and glows in the dark. oh, and some eyeliner? i think that was for gee, not me.

\-----

"What about "My Chemical Romance?" That has a nice ring to it." The three of them were in the overgrown graveyard, the moss on the tombstones seeping its numb chill into their veins. Mikey's words had slipped out after several hours of Gee and Frank bickering back and forth about what to name their self-proclaimed "emo as fuck" band which they were convinced would help to change the world.

"Holy shit, Mikey, that's perfect! How did you think of that, oh my god. Frank, what do you think? Isn't what he said perfect?" Frank had gotten distracted by the bottle of whiskey at their feet, which was more than half empty and currently on its side emptying its liquid gold onto the dying grass. The cigarette dangling from his lips seemed to have been abandoned by his thoughts, as the ashes were falling onto his boots and settling in among the other remains six feet beneath them. 

"Oh, yeah, it's pretty nice. Not as nice as you, of course." Mikey felt the shaking laughter bound forth from his lips as Gerard shrieked and began to chase after Frank, who had pecked him on the cheek following the end of his sentence. Frank untied laces created a lilting beat against the stone path and their footsteps echoed in the forest grove surrounding all of the cemetery. He leaned over and picked up their garbage before beginning to lazily follow them back home. 

It hit Mikey a few blocks away from their house that he was grinning for the first time in months. And even if he wasn't quite happy, he was okay in that moment.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (1:02 p.m.):**

our first show was tonight. everyone seemed to like us. this music, the bass, it makes me feel alright. i hope our band turns out to be worth something, because it means everything to me.

\-----

1-866-488-7386.

The string of eleven digits made up a number which was spoken in advertisements, shared on blogs, and stained on neon posters around the school hallways. Mikey tapped the base of his cell phone rhythmically against his chin, feeling his blood pool in the free hand cupping his newest wounds. It was early in the morning and the midnight sky was still hiding the last of his secrets. Everyone was sleeping; his eyes weren't blinking. An errant tap hit the call button, and a low voice burst forth from the receiver. 

"Hello, my name is CJ. This is the Trevor Lifeline. How can I help you tonight?" Mikey hung up before the worker could utter another syllable. Digging his nails farther into the bleeding cracks in his skin, he refused to let himself cry. 

He was fine.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (8:28 a.m.):**

my mom knows. she doesn't approve, but she said she still loves me. i'm scared. i hope she doesn't tell my dad.

\-----

Frank entered his room without a solitary knock as prior warning. Instead, with arms full of greasy fast food and cheap unnatural candy, he burst unexpectedly into Mikey's personal space with a kick to the door and a scream of salutations. Which was followed by a hearty laugh as Mikey screamed and fell off of his bed, binder smashing into his skull moments later.

"What's up, dude?" Claiming his desk chair, Frank propped his legs up on the old wood as his feet maintained a light grip on the edge. Tossing several of the bags onto Mikey's bed, he then pulled out a hamburger and started eating it with raised eyebrows in Mikey's direction.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Peeking into the disintegrating paper bag, Mikey suppressed a happy gasp as he saw some of Mrs. Iero's homemade pasta and bread. Chowing down right away, Mikey didn't have time to fixate on the calories entering his throat and settling in his small frame. 

"You're withdrawn, don't sleep, don't talk, have panic attacks, never wear short sleeves, fluctuate between apathy and melancholy, isolate yourself, don't have any real friends other than Gee and I, and are always shaking in some way." Mikey kept his eyes on the food, refusing to meet Frank iris's full of anger, pity, sympathy, bitterness. Well, he wasn't certain that Frank was feeling that way in these moments as he listed off some of the things Mikey tried to hide the most. But he also refused to find out the truth by taking his eyes off the uncooked piece of chicken hiding in the upper-right corner of the plate. Ignorance was better than the truth. 

"So?" The bed dipped beside him and Frank's calloused hand snatched a piece of bread from the bag beside his left knee. 

"So you're depressed. Have anxiety. What else is up? Because I fucking care about you, and so does Gee. We need to know so we can help." Mikey tried to hide the shaking that was increasing in his hands in increments of one, two, three vibrations. Leg bouncing against the ground, Mikey bit through the skin of his lip until blood was leaking down his chin. Frank noticed, but acted as if he didn't.

"I think about dying a lot. How nice it would be to not exist." Frank's quick intake of breath was all it took for Mikey to coil inwards in shame. 

"Have you ever tried?" Frank's voice was urgent, worried, scared. But he shouldn't worry. It's not like Mikey wanted to kill himself, or anything like that. 

"No." The food lay abandoned, cold in the setting sunlight. They could hear Gerard shuffling around downstairs, having just woken up from his nap. The sound of the coffeepot in the kitchen infiltrated all their senses. 

"Thank fuck. We've got you, okay. We love you, Mikey. You're gonna get better. Things'll be okay." Gerard was bounding up the stairs, and singing some song they hadn't heard before. 

"Okay." Mikey couldn't understand why Frank was worried. Why Gerard was worried. 

He only wanted to die. Sometimes.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (10:37 p.m.):**

pineapple is the fucking bomb on pizza. i don't care what anyone else thinks.

\-----

"No, Frank, the cord goes 5, 6, 5, not 5, 4 ,5." Mikey was tuning his bass in the basement as Gerard was practically wrapped around his boyfriend's legs in utter agony.

"I think it sounds better this way though." Frank repeated his altered chords, and Gerard began crying. Mikey rolled his eyes, standing up and staggering slightly before making his way over to the two. 

"Why not just use a progression of 5, 6, 5, 4, 5, 6, 5, 4 and so on. It creates a repeating loop that works well to balance out the bass and your vocals in this bridge." Strumming the new pattern hesitantly, a grin broke out upon Frank's face as the notes quickly grew louder in volume. Gerard shrieked in excitement and went back to working out the lyrics, which were perfectly fine yet still not _perfect_ quite yet. 

"Thanks, Mikey!" Mikey went back to working through his own chords, hiding the slight smile which appeared on his face.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (3:17 a.m.):**

gerard just showed me two songs. one is titled "disenchanted" and the other is titled "brother." they were both written for me. i cried as he sang the lyrics to me. i have the best brother in the world. this means the world and more to me.

\-----

"Where are we going?" Mikey's question rang through the small silences in the van which hung between the notes of the Green Day song exploding from the speakers. Frank had his feet on the dash and Gerard was - badly - trying to drive on the icy road. It was the middle of winter and the two had dragged him out of the room on a Saturday morning at eight to go _somewhere_. Yawning, Mikey felt the belt dig further into his chest as Gerard came to a screeching halt at a stoplight.

"It's a surprise." As soon as the cadences left Gerard's mouth, he shot a wide grin towards his brother through the rear view mirror. Frank burst out laughing as Mikey pouted and slid out of his seat until he was lying on the floor. Mikey lay there immobile over all of the pot holes and gravel roads, emitting a low groan from the base of his throat. 

"We're here, dude." Frank flicked Mikey's elbow to wake him up along with his words, for at some point during the journey he had fallen into the reverie of sleep. A pile of drool on his chin and a red cheek courtesy of his arm left Mikey even more disgruntled than he was before as Mikey climbed out of the van, tugging his beanie down to cover the entirety of his ears. 

"Where the fuck are we?" The building looming in front of them looked medical, ominous. Flower petals littered the long stretch of cement behind them, covering up every sign of civilization. Puddles of rain danced around their feet and water droplets clung to every pore of their skin. 

"Not only did I get you a binder, little brother, but I found you a gender therapist. That way the process can begin sooner than later for transitioning. Testosterone, top surgery, you name it. It's all coming soon." Gerard watched as Mikey's face cycled through shock, disbelief, elation, joy, happiness. Before Mikey knew what was happening he was sobbing and shaking in the middle of the parking lot with half of his jacket on and one shoe undone. Gerard and Frank quickly moved in to hug him, and before long he was calm once more. Muffled words appeared in Gerard's shoulder and the two boys moved back to see a wide grin on Mikey's face. 

"Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me." 

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (6:48 p.m.):**

top surgery in sixth months! t in three!

\-----

They were at a cheap dive bar, playing their songs for a crowd more interested in getting high, staying high, and hooking up with a stranger for the night. The back corner full of their half-price amps and old bar stools entertained their melodies. Gerard was screaming his heart out, and Frank and Mikey couldn't feel their fingers anymore. Even so, a small crowd of people were swaying to the music directly in front of them with wide eyes and cheap body glitter.

"The amount of pills I'm taking, counteracts the booze I'm drinking." Beer was slick on the hardwood floors, and a fight was happening three rooms away. Someone was drunk, begging the bartender for another pint. Another was sneaking drinks off of the glasses left precariously around the room. 

"And this vanity I'm breaking, lets me live my life like this." Someone was winking at Mikey, knocking back the remains of a cocktail. They had been grinding against a woman in a wrap dress ten minutes earlier. Mikey diverted his eyes to the old wash towel and bottle of water lying at his feet. Small droplets of blood were staining the knees of his new jeans. 

"And well I find it hard to stay, with the words you say." Frank was getting into a fight with someone who had thrown a homophobic slur at the lesbians kissing in the corner. Punches were thrown until crimson was staining all of Gerard's face and dripping from the curled fists made of Frank's twitching fingers. Before long, the three were outside in the night, their breaths painting soft white clouds in the early morning air. 

"Oh baby, let me in." Gerard's blood-stained lyric left them choking on laughter over the sidewalk littered with broken glass and shredded lotto tickets.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (7:24 a.m.):**

gerard's writing a comic book, and apparently a character in it is based off of me. his name is "kobra kid."

\-----

The therapist gave him some Prozac, some Xanax, some Halcion. The tablets lay in little orange bottles in fallen stacks atop his dresser, and their screw tops required him to hold the tab down and twist whenever he longed for their relief. It was supposed to be a safety measure for children, after all. To ensure that they wouldn't overdose too early on the medications which would later keep them alive.

Every night, at three a.m., Mikey held forty of each in his twitching palm and thought about swallowing the little white circles until he grew faint and passed out. He thought about what it would be like to go to sleep and never wake up again. He thought about what death must feel like. 

But he wasn't suicidal. He didn't want to kill himself. He just thought about his own death and what it would mean every day.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (12:02 a.m.):**

my therapist says i should talk to more people. but what would i have to talk about? unicorns? the new star wars movie?

\-----

He was always smirking at the doctors in the waiting room, and winking at him from across the room. Beanies, skinny jeans, baggy sweatshirts, and eyeliner seemed to be his only defining physical characteristics which didn't twist and change every single day. He didn't try to hide the scars on his arms or the way he always limped when he walked. He wore a Pink Floyd t-shirt which had a ketchup stain in the upper-right hand corner. His teeth were slightly pointed and his laugh was a bit too loud. He had a dog which would wait outside for him, tied with a fading leash to the rusted bike rack. Once, he had made an errant remark that he "was in a really fucking awesome band, man, you gotta hear us play some time."

Mikey _didn't_ have a crush on him. 

He just liked him a lot. As a friend. Right. As a friend, and nothing more. Nothing that even came close to wow-this-guy-is-my-soulmate-I-love-him-so-much-when-will-he-ask-me-out-oh-my-god. 

One day, when Mikey was leaving his appointment with unshed tears rotting behind his corneas and a promise to call his therapist when he wanted to hurt himself decaying in his frontal lobe, he slipped his number into his hand. It was scrawled in a blue-black gradient as if his pen had been running out of ink. His name was Pete. The wink on the left eye of the smiley face was tilted too far towards the North Star and Mikey had made it exactly ten steps out of the door before he left out a strangled sound of distress. 

Gerard and Frank were five feet away from him, all concerned eyes and sympathetic noises. Until they saw him jump in the air with fists raised, screaming "I finally got his number!" Then it was all laughs and pats on the back and ruffled hair. 

"I always knew he was gay, Gee!" Mikey was laughing as he climbed into the backseat, shoelace banging against the metal seat-belt.

"Frank!"

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (6:56 p.m.):**

pete took me on my first date this morning. he kissed me until my lips were numb. i'm pretty sure i love him.

\-----

"I'm sorry, Kelly, but you'll never be anything but my daughter to me. This gender bullshit...you've been spending too much time online. You're a girl."

"I'm not, Dad, I'm a boy. I've always been a boy. And my name is Mikey, please. I'm your son." 

"You're fucking not, Kelly. I mean, where did I go so wrong in raising you that you think it's okay to act this way? To believe you're a different gender? To call yourself by a boy's name? This is unacceptable behavior." 

"Last time I checked, you said you loved me. That you would support me through anything and everything. Why is that so different now?" 

"Because I didn't raise my child to be a tranny, that's why, Kelly." 

"While you're at it with the slurs, you might as well know that I'm gay, as well." 

"So you like boys? That's natural. Because you are a girl and girls like boys. You're not a faggot, Kelly, you're normal."

"Stop calling me that. That's not my fucking name, Dad. I am your son." 

"Go to your room. Now." 

"Why? So you can pretend that I'm still your daughter?" 

"Don't."

"What? Why am I so disgusting to you now that I'm being honest with you about who I am?"

"Please don't talk to me about this again. I love you." 

"Don't ever hit me again."

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (3:54 a.m.):**

frank asked me if gee really loves him. i told him yes. because why else would gerard be blasting love songs right now and making a painting of them kissing?

\-----

Pete's basement was the venue for their show, stuffed full of drunk high schoolers too tipsy on their feet and twenty-somethings too high to remember their own names.

"Look at that fucking babe." He was lost in the music, the white noise of their comment lost to his ears as the crowd noise ran through all of his senses before being disposed of by his nervous system. 

"I know, right? Wonder why she's wearing those clothes, though." It was sticking out for some reason, the cadences of the conversation between the two boys with snapbacks and muscle tanks in the corner. 

"And the short hair? I bet she fucks well." Missing a chord, Mikey tried to recover. But the notes were slipping in every measure until they were all bleeding together, and, fuck, what song were they playing? He vaguely registered a hand on his arm, asking if he was alright. Then he was outside, vomiting, shaking, struggling to breathe. A stray partygoer asked if he was okay, masculine pronouns intact. 

"Yeah." Heads in his hands, Mikey focused on steadying his breathing as he felt his stomach muscles cramp and protest this daily devastation. But it was okay. Right? 

He was okay.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (4:05 p.m.):**

gerard told me i smell like old wine. i think that's a compliment?

\-----

Gerard was absolutely _creaming_ him at Mario Party 8. Princess Peach exclaimed a sound of celebration as Gee secured another star, rainbow confetti falling around her. Yoshi was still at one, while she had ten. It wasn't fair, and Mikey was thoroughly convinced that Gerard had rigged this game against him. Collapsing against the mattress, he groaned loudly and felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Mikey, you okay?" Gerard pulled him to his feet, and, holding his brother by the shoulders, noticed the way Mikey couldn't quite take a full breath in. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." Small exhales of air followed by increasingly smaller inhales left Mikey sitting on the ground with both hands on his chest trying to control the breathing apparatus crucial to keeping his heart beating. 

"How long have you been wearing it?" Mikey was avoiding eye contact and tugging down the hem of his shirt as Gerard was composing a text to Frank. 

"Twelve hours." Shame and remorse stitched together every syllable of those two words. Before he could process what was happening, Gerard had shoved Mikey into the bathroom. 

"Please take it off. I asked Frank to bring you some sports bras." The fabric was restricting his chest into a corrupt and twisted mess, but Mikey still couldn't bear to part with the garment that made him real. Not broken. Sobs clogging his airway, the binder was soon off and Mikey tried to believe this was the right thing to do. 

"We love you, Mikes. We just wanna make sure you're okay." Gerard was hugging him. When did Gerard get here? Mikey tucked his face into his knees and screamed. 

"I know."

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (8:42 a.m.):**

pete loves patrick more.

\-----

Blood was crawling out of his arm and running down his arm, jumping towards the tiled floor in leaps and bounds. It had been fifteen minutes, and he could barely hold the edges of his flesh together as his hands became covered in the sticky substance pumping throughout his veins. Hyperventilating, he noted that he could see the bone. _He could see the bone._

His thighs were still screaming and dripping scarlet streams down his legs until they were covered in his blood. A pool of iron was gathered around his feet, infecting his being with a sense of urgency unique to those who are dying. Copper hand prints aligned his torso, face, neck. Tears carved dirty rivers through the substance coating his cheeks. 

He hadn't wanted to die. He had just wanted to cut himself deep, deeper in order to reveal what was truly inside him. 

But death was ripping his throat open now, and he was ready. 

"Mikey?" It sounded faintly of Gerard. His brother had always been too nice to him throughout all of their daily interactions. Why hadn't he given up on Mikey yet? Subtle knocks reverberated through the wooden door. Lazy eyes noticed that he had forgotten to lock it before he began. 

"'M fine. Promis'." 

Gerard was opening the door. The sound of its rusted hinges creaking slowly open coupled with Gerard's suppressed sob left Mikey laughing on the bathroom floor. He was doubled over, hands smearing the puddle of blood around him farther outwards until it seeped into the fluffy white rug. 

"Mikey, fuck, shit. You're not fine. We need to get you to the hospital. Keep pressure on your arm, okay? I think that's the worst one. You're gonna be okay, alright? I promise." Gerard was on the phone with someone and he seemed to be panicking. Why was he panicking? Mikey was fine. It was just a little bit of blood and a small mess to be cleaned up before morning.

"Ge', don' worry. 'M okay. Jus' some blood." Gerard picking him up, carrying him down the flight of stairs towards the early spring morning downstairs. Why did they need to go downstairs? Upstairs was fine. His blood was leaving the wooden floors with a new finish as Gerard lay Mikey on the couch and put his hands over the worst wounds Mikey wasn't covering. 

"Why, Mikes? Did you want to die?" The paramedics were there, strapping him to a stretcher and carrying him towards an ambulance outside. Gerard was holding his hand, palm slick with the thick congealed substance.

"Nah. Jus' want' to see if emtpy insi'."

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (1:52 p.m.):**

i was in the hospital for a few weeks. i'm getting better now.

\-----

His high school diploma said Michael James Way, and Frank and Gee were there to congratulate him after he walked across the stage. His mom was in the crowd with flowers and a giant grin on her face.

\-----

**disenchanted posted a text post (4:12 a.m.):**

i'm taking a break from this blog. i used it to escape living, and i'd rather be out there than in here now. see you all some other time. thanks for everything.

\-----

"Okay, okay, but what about L.A.?" Their legs were skimming the surface of the lake as the sun continued to dip towards the horizon. Frank was intertwining his legs with Gee's, and fish danced between their toes.

" _Fuck_ no, Gerard. Jersey is where we need to be." Mikey's t-shirt was sinking into his body as he watched a fat fish eat up the flakes left by eager tourists earlier in the day. His lunch lay abandoned next to him, and the bottle of sunscreen lay abandoned next to their towels twenty feet away. 

"But L.A. is where the music industry is at, Frank. We need to go there." Frank threw a handful of water at Gerard's face, smearing his eyeliner. Mikey suppressed his giggles as Gerard screamed and dove into the water, going under the surface into its depths. 

"Over my dead body, Gerard." A fish thrown in his face left Frank choking on broken scales and rotting seaward. Mikey's full-body laughter left him clutching his stomach as his muscles cramped in pain from the joy. His vulnerability allowed Frank to push him into the lake before jumping in himself. Racing after Gerard, Frank began singing the Jaws theme under his breath. Mikey joined in, and blocked Gerard's escape. Ducking his boyfriend underwater, Frank raised a fist in victory before being pulled under himself. Mikey thought he was safe until two hands on his ankles dragged him under as well. 

Their laughter reached the sky as wet hair stung their eyes and saltwater filled their lungs. 

Mikey was happy, and that was enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @hidefromeveryone
> 
> the trevor lifeline: 1-866-488-7386
> 
> please stay safe.


End file.
